Rhaegar's Rebellion
by Moradhel
Summary: Rhaegar fought valiantly, Rhaegar fought nobly, Rhaegar fought honorably. And Rhaegar won. Robert's Rebellion AU.
1. Rhaegar I

**Rhaegar I**

"_**TARGARYEN!**_"

On horseback, Robert Baratheon roared at the Prince of Dragonstone. He hefted his warhammer of cruel black iron and raised it, challenging the prince. Jason Mallister stepped forward with his liege, but Robert held him back with one outstretched hand. "The dragon is _mine_." He spat out vehemently. Rhaegar steeled himself. Robert was a brash and arrogant man, to be sure, but it could not be denied that he was a fierce warrior. The prince said nothing to the Baratheon, only raising his sword in turn.

The ground below them was more mud than dirt, watered by the blood of the fallen and the nearby ford. The battle raged around the two, confused and chaotic. Soldiers fought and died in the mud of the Trident, slogging through the battlefield, killing and drowning in the waters of the river. The banner of the three-headed dragon waved above, and alongside it were the rose of the Tyrells and the sun-and-spear of the Martells, along with a host of lesser houses. Spurring his warhorse forward, Robert rode towards Prince Rhaegar. The Targaryen did likewise, unsheathing his bright sword. The din of battle around the two seemed to fade as the two challengers met each other.

His horse at a full charge, Robert raised his hammer as Rhaegar slashed at him with his brand. The hammer gave only a glancing blow to Rhaegar's side, while Rhaegar's blade did not pierce Robert's armor. The two passed each other. The prince quickly turned his horse to meet Robert again. The Baratheon's chest heaved underneath his steel armor. He had been fighting hard for more than an hour on the battlefield, and his exhaustion began to show. Rhaegar again brought his black warhorse to a charge, and this time Robert's warhammer slammed down like a bolt of lightning, but was met with Rhaegar's shield. He could hear the shield cracking, the heavy strength of Robert's arm apparent.

Rhaegar noticed the horse struggling to balance itself on the ground, which was becoming more muddied. In the corner of his eye, in the distance he saw Ser Barristan, his white cloak stained with earth and mud, battling two knights by himself. The bold warrior held his own, despite being wounded by sword and spear and arrow. The two others of the Kingsguard on the field were fighting their own battles against the rebel forces and Robert's bannermen. The two armies, rebel and royal, seemed about evenly matched.

The Prince of Dragonstone had no further time to look on the battlefield, as they both moved met each other for a third time. Rhaegar went on the attack, galloping his horse forward as he tried to slash at Robert's head. The Baratheon, seeing an opening in Rhaegar's defenses, brought his hammer forward with his full strength, slamming it right into Rhaegar's exposed breastplate. The Targaryen tumbled off of his horse with a great thud, landing into the muddy waters of the ford.

The wind knocked out of him, Rhaegar breathed heavily. His vision was tinted with red. Coughing up blood, he saw Robert Baratheon dismount in order to finish him. The stag horns on his helmet, his black hammer, and his towering figure made him look more monster than man. Striding over to Rhaegar's prone body, he gave a cry as he raised his warhammer to give the final blow. Quickly, Rhaegar grasped the shield which fell besides him and raised it towards the grey sky. His hands shuddered with the strength of the blow, and chips of wood splintered off the shield.

Enraged, Robert again raised his hammer and brought it down against Rhaegar. The shield gave a resounding _crack _and broke under the weight of the blow into several pieces. Useless now, he cast it aside. The Dragon Prince wildly looked around for something, anything. His eyes fell to his left on his sword, just outside of his reach, lying in the muddy water. He twisted leftward quickly to avoid Robert's next blow. Robert smirked as he saw the proud Prince Rhaegar like a worm writhing in the mud. He prepared to crush the cursed dragon-spawn under his feet. Rhaegar quickly felt the hilt of his sword, and grabbed ahold of it just as Robert's hammer began to fall. With a flash of steel, Rhaegar lifted the sword upwards. He felt the the blade meet flesh. Robert yelled out in pain, the sword cut to the very bone. Red blood splattered into the water. He fell to his knees in pain.

Rhaegar, leaning on his sword, rose up from the ground. Ever the chivalrous knight, he gave Robert a moment to stand up. The Baratheon spat, his face contorted with pain, but he lifted himself up nonetheless. The man's resolve was to be admired.

"For… Lyanna." Robert hefted his mighty warhammer, bringing it down in a deadly arc. Both were wounded, but Rhaegar was still agile. He stepped back, the warhammer swinging mere inches from his face. His swings and wild blows became increasingly desperate. His breathing became increasingly heavy and his thrashing with the warhammer more sluggish. Robert was clad in heavy steel armor, after all, and it took a man of great strength like him to be able to wear it for hours and still do battle. But he was still a man.

Rhaegar, mastering his pain, weaved in and out of the Baratheon's reach. A slash there, a stab here. Each cut Rhaegar made with his blade only served to enrage Robert. The thrill of battle still shone bright in Robert's eyes as the dragon and stag fought to the end. Robert gave a last thunderous swing with his iron hammer, throwing all of his weight into the blow. The hammer swung uselessly in the air. The Baratheon lost his balance, the hammer fell, sinking into the watery mud beneath the two. Rhaegar suddenly saw his chance. Rushing in close, in one lightning-swift motion, Rhaegar ran his blade through Robert's chest.

For one brief moment, their eyes met. Rhaegar was close enough to see the light leave Robert's eyes. Robert cursed him one last time in vain, his mouth bloody. The dragon-prince removed the blade from his chest, and Robert's body fell before him.

Battered and bloodied, Rhaegar Targaryen caught his breath. He leaned on his body of the would-be usurper was broken before him. It was finished. His silver hair was streaked with mud and his wounds still pained him, but he was still princely to look on. The Targaryen's violet eyes turned away from the sight before him. He knew his prophesies. He knew his duty. He must be a warrior. The sight of blood and killing and death did not please him. It was a duty, to be done for the realm and for his love. That was his fate. Ser Jonothor Darry snapped him out of his thoughts.

"My Lord Rhaegar." The knight of the Kingsguard said, his white cloak torn and tattered. "The usurper is dead." His eyes shone with hope.

Rhaegar's gaze was distant as always. "My horse fled during the duel with Robert."

Jonothor whistled at one of his squires, who ran off to find him one.

"How goes the battle, Ser?" Rhaegar asked as he looked around. Dead bodies strewn about the ground, more fighting and killing, but in the chaos he could not make out in which direction the tide of the battle was leaning.

"The men saw your duel with the Baratheon and saw him go down. It has given new strength to our men - the right wing of the rebel army is in rout already. Ser Barristan lead the charge, cutting down dozens of men, but he is gravely wounded. The Dornishmen are fighting, but their prince is injured. Their center is weak - if we can force them into retreat, the day is ours, my lord."

The squire brought the horse, which Rhaegar swiftly mounted. "I will lead the center. Ser Jonothor, lead the Dornishmen on the right wing. For the Ki- For the Realm." He snapped the reins of the horse, which went cantering forwards.

"For the Realm, my lord."

* * *

The setting sun shone as it fell in hues of dark crimson and fiery orange. In the golden light of evening, the Trident seemed to shine with its own light. It would be a beautiful sight, worthy of a song, perhaps, if not for the corpses of the fallen strewn about the field. The crows had begun to gather. They alighted on the battlefield in flocks, picking at the dead. The bodies of the highborn were being gathered for burial, and wounded men hobbled off the battlefield, glad to see the end of battle. The lowborn were left to rot on the field.

Rhaegar looked down at the sight in silence. His thoughts drifted far from the battlefield. They drifted towards his family. Those memories, however, were far from happy ones. King Aerys was but a shadow of his former self. He could lie to himself no longer - he was the worst tyrant the Seven Kingdoms had seen since Maegor the Cruel. And the stories about his him and his mother… he closed his eyes. His father, the king, the man he once was, had died. Only that... shadow on the throne was left now. At the tourney in Harrenhal, he remembered what he looked like. Pale and gaunt, his eyes bloodshot-red. His head a tangle of uncut grey hair and his nails long and twisted. He would laugh and cry like a man possessed. The Mad King indeed. His arms were slashed red with cuts and scratches from the Iron Throne.

A man who could not sit on the throne was no king.

He could only hope his father's infirmity had not become worse. For his mother's sake, for Viserys' sake, and and for Elia's sake. Hopes would not avail him anything. He knew what must be done. Already the blood spilt today was on his hands, though he dreaded the thought. Rhaegar tried not to think of what the future might hold as his thoughts drifted even further, beyond Dragonstone and the Red Keep.

_Lyanna Stark_. The mere memory of the name, despite his father, despite the war, despite _everything_, made him softly smile. The way she smiled. Her fierce spirit. Her raven-dark hair, the starlight in her eyes, the smell of flowers. It was madness. All of this war and killing and blood, and for what? For her? Yes, for her. A steep price it might be. But it was a price he was willing to take. But most of all, he did it for the realm and the child she bore. His was the Song, after all, the only song that mattered. He had seen it. The promised prince, he was sure of it. Aemon had told him. Already the cold breath of darkness was beginning to fall on the world.

The night had fallen, and the stars were beginning to shine down on him. Next to him he had his silver harp. He took it - it was an old friend to him now - and began to strum a song that was both soft and hauntingly sad, thinking of his love he left behind him.

* * *

Hello! This is the first chapter of a series I intend to continue. If any of you enjoyed it, (or, for that matter, if you didn't enjoy it) drop a review. I'm always looking to improve my writing, and this is my first fanfic, after all. I'm not sure how frequently I will update this - I'll try to keep it at a good pace, but sometimes life gets in the way. Thanks guys! ~ Moradhel


	2. Jaime I

**Jaime I**

The sickening smell of charred skin and bone wafted upwards in the Red Keep. For days and days the entire throne room reeked of burnt flesh. Jaime could never seem to be rid of the scent. On his cloak, in his armor, on his bed, in his dreams, the smell of sacrifices to the mercurial whim of a mad king never seemed to depart from him. It was by his side, a _reminder_. Of the tortured screams of Rickard Stark as the hungry flames seared his skin. Of the last choking breaths of Brandon Stark as he tried to save his brother. Of the sound of the queen's quiet sobbing as Aerys defiled her. And what had he done? Stood silently beside him, _guarding him_, even as the king's pyromancer lit the pyres for countless men and women whose screams for mercy and cries of agony would be with him and in dreams, those screams and cries which fell on the deaf ears of a madman and the unhearing ears of the Kingsguard. Surely the blood had stained his hands as much as it had stained theirs.

He shook his head, ridding himself of those thoughts. It was in vain and fruitless to think on the past - or at least, so he told himself. Jaime stood like a statue, unmoving. _I should have left with Rhaegar_. How he had begged him to leave the king, to fight by his side. But the dragon, ever enigmatic, gave the same sad smile, and told him - _ordered _him to defend Elia and his children. And he intended to see that order through.

The courtiers and nobles kept to the edges of the palatial throne room, making sure to avoid the gaze of Aerys on his throne without giving off the appearance of avoiding him. Those men that were left in court, those who had not rallied to Rhaegar's banner, were largely lickspittles, sycophants, and cowards. And, perhaps one or two men who were honestly trying to serve the realm, the poor fools.

King Aerys sat on the throne unsteadily. While it was held that no king should ever sit comfortably on his throne, the king was more than uncomfortable. Rivulets of blood were already dropping onto the throne, king's blood. He cringed in fear of the metal monstrosity he sat his arse on, forged from the swords of the enemies of House Targaryen by Balerion the Black Dread. His long, grey beard was already tangled into knots and was hanging around him as if he was some wildling from the heathen north. His fingernails, long and yellow, twisted and curled longer then his fingers. And on his head, a golden crown.

How the crowds had cheered for Jaime during the tourneys. Not as loud as they cheered for Prince Rhaegar, of course, but it still made him swell with pride. When the Sword of the Morning knighted him on the battlefield, he was proud to be a called a knight. But a shadow had fallen over Westeros now. He expected that the Kingsguard would be a place of _honor_. The white cloak had brought him nothing but shame. He wished Cercei never asked him to do this. Not that he blamed her, of course. He had given up the gold of the Lannisters for the white of the Kingsguard. By the Seven, he had given up _Casterly_ _Rock_ for a chance to serve. The memory of her was his only anchor in this hell. They were one, after all. He tried to remember her face, it came easily to him. He knew every line, every lock of golden hair. When the smell of burnt flesh and the sound of tortured men and the sight of fire blackening skin and bone and Aerys laughing seemed too much to bear - he thought of them together, as they once were, at Casterly Rock. He went away far inside to escape the madman which haunted him on the outside.

The cavernous doors of the Great Hall yawned open. A messenger stepped inside the hall. He walked down the red carpet leading to the Iron Throne. He knelt before the throne, looking down at the floor, not daring to raise his eyes towards the King. He did not speak.

Aerys leered down at him from his high throne. "Are you from the pyromancers? Did Rossart send you?"

The messenger's head remained down. "No, your Grace. I come with news. Prince Rhaegar has sent a raven with a report of the victory at the Trident against the Barath-"

Aerys rose with a start, hissing, his hands tightening their viselike grip on the Iron Throne. "_Do not speak that name in presence._"

Jaime could see the messenger begin to sweat. The last messenger who had displeased Aerys was given to the pyromancers as a plaything. The king licked his lips.

"A-against the rebels, your Grace."

"You may speak." Aerys waved a hand at him. His moods were as fickle and passing as a summer storm.

"Prince Rhaegar reports that the rebels are routed. Ser Barristan was wounded on the field. Rhaegar's injuries are not as severe. Most importantly, your Grace, Lord Rob-, er, the leader of the rebel host, was slain by Rhaegar's own hand."

A whisper went up amongst the onlookers. Prince Robert Baratheon, dead?

"Rhaegar… Rhae-gar… Rhaegar…" The king murmured sing-song to himself, leaning forward and backwards. "So the dragon-whelpling has killed the stag, eh?"

"Yes, your Grace."

Jaime kept his expression as stoic as ever, but he turned and gave a questioning look towards the Kingsguard to his left. This meant - Rhaegar would be returning back to King's Landing! "_When the battle's done I mean to call a council."_ Rhaegar assured him, as he left to put down Robert's revolt. "_Changes will be made. I meant to do it long ago, but… well, it does no good to speak of roads not taken. We shall talk when I return." _

He could only pray that he would return, and swiftly, to put an end to his father's madness. Jaime almost gave a sigh of relief. The young prince was, perhaps, the last hope of the realm.

The king lurched forward. Slowly, he began to hobble down the steps of the Iron Throne. Teetering forward and backward once or twice like a man too deep in his cups, Jaime was almost afraid he would fall crashing down onto the marble dais. He stepped off of the throne.

Lord Varys, the Master of Whispers, walked forward, the eunuch's violet robe swishing as he walked. A sickeningly-sweet smell of perfume followed him. His bald head reminded Jaime of an egg.

"King Aerys, your Grace." He said, going to his knees in an over-exaggerated bow.

"Varys. My true and faithful servant." While Aerys said this, no tone of affection entered his voice.

"The news of Rhaegar's victory is a joyous one, to be sure. The rebel dogs will soon be hunted down like the pack of beasts they are." He said with an effeminate giggle. He probably thought that was funny. "But my lord, the matter of Rhaegar is of great _concern_ to the realm."

Aerys tilted his head slightly towards Varys. That bald-headed eunuch, though he was making quite a fool of himself in order to flatter Aerys, was far more dangerous then he betrayed. His prodigious talents for knowing things no man had a right to know was famed on both sides of the Narrow Sea. It was for this reason that, when he trusted no one else, he invited Varys to the court in King's Landing. The eunuch had been whispering in his ear ever since.

Varys continued in his light voice, with a hint of the lilting accent of the Free Cities. "Your Grace, I only desire good for this realm and its illustrious monarch. I have heard whisperings, your Grace - only whisperings, mind you - that some men think he should not wait to take the throne. Word has even come to me, my lord… that Rhaegar planned to call a Great Council during the tourney at Harrenhal to usurp the kingship. I have… been _informed_ of this, I am sure of it."

The leeches and flatterers who surrounded Aerys as of late often spoke against the young prince. Lord Chested, the late Hand, often spoke ill of Rhaegar, claiming that he had ambitions to seize the Iron Throne from his father. But no concrete evidence was procured, and thus suspicions remained suspicions. Until now.

King Aerys practically frothed at the mouth with rabid rage. "My own son, a traitor to the crown. Is this how he thanks me? He thinks he can rule the realm in my stead? Does he think me weak? Decrepit? An old fool!"

_That and more, probably. _

In another of his fits of rage, Aerys took the crown on his head and threw it at his feet. It changed as it hit the floor, one of the rubies cracking. He tore at his beard, and his eyes were a furious bloodshot-red. "Rhaegar, curse his name! Seven curse the day that bitch ever gave birth to that whelp."

His eyes widened with fear. "Does he… mean to… mean to… _betray _me? He is marching at the head of a victorious army..."

Jaime swore he could see Varys' mouth twitch, the shadow of a smile. "Your Grace, I'm not sure…"

"He is a useful servant, but sometimes servants outlive their use. Kings…" His hand shaking, he took his crown off of his head and into his hand, looking deep into the rubies which adorned it. "Kings must do what other, lesser men, are unwilling to do. A king must be strong where other men must be weak. And I am no craven weakling."

_Madness. _

"Pycelle. The Maester. Bring me Pycelle!"

Scuttling like a crab, Pycelle meekly bowed before his king. "Get a parchment and ink." He ordered as Aerys began to pace back and forth in circles. A parchment and ink was brought, and Pycelle set pen to paper.

"Write. I, Aerys Targaryen, the Second of My Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, by royal decree do forthwith banish Rhaegar Targaryen from all of the Seven Kingdoms and all the domains of the Realm for the high crimes of treason and conspiracy. Any man who harbors, aids, or abets him in his crimes will be brought to justice."

Aerys' face twisted into a cruel smile.

"This edict is enforced under pain of death. So be it. He fancies himself a dragon, eh? Dragons can be hunted. Dragons… even dragons die."

Jaime's head spun. Banishing his own son for nothing save the words of a faithless spider? Aerys was quickly losing his hold on sanity, if it wasn't already lost. Varys gave a sly smirk. "What you command shall be, your Grace. The ravens shall be sent." Varys said with an obsequious bow.

"Perhaps it is time for you to retire, your Grace." Varys said softly. "You seem… taxed by the duties of the realm. The crown is, after all, a great burden, and one that is not shouldered lightly…"

Ignoring the eunuch, King Aerys walked over to Jaime. His pale, gaunt face contorted into a sneer. His breath smelled of blood and wine, and the small of ash and fire was on his skin. His eyes seemed to pierce Jaime's own, his baleful gaze looking at him with hunger and fear.

"Lannister boy. Make sure your father behaves, eh? Like the good little house-cat that he is. I have his pup under my custody, after all. But I am a merciful king, yes? I do not think you are a traitor. You do not have the look about you.

Jaime tried not to retch before the sight of the king. Rhaegar already told him in truth he was only there as a hostage, to ensure the good behavior of the Lannisters, but to have the king himself tell him as much only added salt to the wound.

Stiffly, Jaime bowed his head, and said "Thank you, your Grace."

The king seemed to be satisfied with himself. "Too many men are traitors. Too many knives surround me. Is there no honest man in these Seven Kingdoms?" He accused the lords and ladies gathered in court, his suspicious eyes falling on each in turn. He saw assassins and conspiracy in every shadow, only inflamed by that eunuch's whispering.

Jaime let out a breath, trying to be anywhere else but here and doing anything else but serving the beast who fancied himself a king on his throne. Was all he could do stand here, helplessly, as the king spiraled further into his madness? _I should just give up the white cloak_. No. That was the one thing he couldn't do. He made a promise. He wouldn't betray Rhaegar's trust. He served the throne, not the king.

All that he could do was wait, and do his duty.


	3. Eddard I

**Eddard I**

Eddard looked over the broken body of Robert Baratheon, the body recovered by some of his faithful knights during the retreat on the Trident. His hand formed a fist. _If only… if only… I was there._ Eddard drowned in a wave of guilt. He swore to fight for Robert. If he had been there, he would have fought besides Robert until the very end. Until the bitter end. But the chaos of the battle split the two apart. The last moments they saw each other flashed back in Eddard's mind.

Robert was fighting some Dornish lord, his hammer smashing and crunching through bone and metal like a god of war. Eddard fought besides him, his bannermen fighting with him through the muck and the river. Sweating and bleeding, Robert smiled like a madmen, the fury and joy of battle upon him. He was always the better fighter, with that monstrous iron hammer of his Eddard could barely lift. Eddard heard horns wildly sounding to his left - the Reachmen were fording the river. Robert finished mangling the Dornishman's head in with one final sweep of his hammer.

Eddard turned towards the river. The golden rose of House Tyrell flying above the army, the knights of the Reach were thundering towards the Northern battle-lines. Robert turned towards the Stark. "You meet those knights. Their horses won't be able to charge properly through the mire." He pointed his warhammer towards the distance, Eddard could make out a knight on horseback, his armor sable-black and his helm like a dragon. "I will kill that worm and put an end to this," Rob said as he made his way over, rallying his men to force his way up. "Good luck, brother." Eddard wished him. They never saw each other again. He died like he lived, warring and whoring. But that was little consolation to Eddard. He looked over Robert's body. The maesters had tried to hide his wounds before the burial, but the Stark could still make out the outline of where Rhaegar had stabbed straight through his chest.

"I failed him. I failed my _brother_." Robert was as much family to him as Rickard had ever been. Hell, they were raised together in the Vale. Eddard remembered their days as wards together under Jon Arryn as clearly as he remembered yesterday. Jon Arryn was a second father to him. And now that his true father was dead - Jon was his own father. A strange family, they made, but one which whose bonds were stronger than steel. And now Robert was… dead… dead by Rhaegar's hand.

_Rhaegar_. Eddard's hand formed into a fist as his hands shook with rage. The prince had stolen and raped his sister, and now had killed his brother on the field. The king had killed his father and killed his trueborn brother. If only Ed was there. Hee would have killed Rhaegar with his bare hands and crushed his head in until it cracked and his blood turned the Trident red and his black heart stopped its beating. As far as he was concerned, the only good dragon was a dead dragon. If there was any justice in this world, whatever gods there were would surely grant him that.

The Stark felt a calm hand on his shoulder. "Eddard…"

Jon Arryn stood there, his watery blue eyes full of grief. His light brown hair was turning grey, and Eddard noticed lines on his face that he had not noticed before.

"I know how you feel, Eddard." The childless Jon spoke in his somber and calming voice. "We have lost our king, but I have also lost a son." Jon sighed. "I am getting old, Ed. I have seen too many men die. Madness has overtaken the realm. And to think, all of this… started by one prince."

Eddard's voice was full of rage. "I'll kill him, Jon. I swear I will do it by my own hand. I'll kill him just as he killed Robert." Jon sighed again.

"This isn't about us. Eddard. This is about the realm. This is about _duty_. You are _the _Lord Stark now." Jon gently rebuked him. "You have a duty to your House. You have a duty to your bannermen. They placed their honor on the line to defend House Stark when a Mad King called for your blood. When Aerys demanded your heads, I raised my banners to defend you two. Now that Robert is dead, they are fighting for you. We are fighting for you. The time for vengeance will come. But for now, _do your duty_. Lead your men."

Eddard flushed with shame. He was being selfish. This wasn't some quest for revenge against Rhaegar, or even a quest for revenge against Aerys. _Jon is right. But how am I supposed to lead? My brother was raised to be the Stark in Winterfell, not me._

A chill entered the room in Harroway's Tower. It was there that they decided to set up their army after the retreat, a strategic town where they could regroup.

"We lost many men on the field, Jon. How, exactly, am I supposed to do my duty?"

The Arryn knowingly smiled. "Not all hope is lost. You will see."

* * *

The war council had begun.

Jon was seated at Eddard's right, and Hoster Tully to his left. The council was held in main hall of Harroway's tower. The rebel lords gathered around in a semicircle. Present were all the great lords of the North, along with their bannermen and sworn swords. All were dour-faced and dressed in their dark cloaks and furs. Lord Bolton gazed at Eddard with his eyes pale as moonstone as Lord Umber sharpened his blade. Fat Lord Manderly merely sat down, waiting, while the Mormonts were lead by Ser Jorah.

The lords of the Vale were present as well, knights in bright burnished armor, lead by Jon Arryn. Lords of the other houses of the Vale - Corbray and Royce - were there as well. Those lords who had answered Hoster Tully's call to arms were there as well, chief among them Lord Mallister. There were not as many as there could have been, as many of the riverlords swore allegiance to the crown when the rebellion broke out. Those few stormlords who did not remain south with Stannis grumbled amongst themselves. _A fragile alliance, Robert the only thing holding them together. _All of the men sat around a table with a map of the Riverlands on it, Jon Arryn stood up, addressing the assembled lords and knights. He cleared his voice.

"My lords, we have lost the battle, but we have not yet lost the war. We have taken losses, yes, but our forces are still strong. We might have another chance at victory."

Jon placed a letter on the table for all to see, with a red seal of the three-headed dragon prominently displayed. The royal seal.

"King Aerys has exiled Prince Rhaegar Targaryen from the realm. I can hardly see how Rhaegar will ever submit to this order. This means the crown has a new enemy to fight, one with a larger army. While the two dragons are fighting, we will strike, and strike hard." They murmured amongst themselves.

_Rhaegar and Aerys fighting? It looks like the Mad King has finally cracked. _

Lord Manderly raised his voice. "Then let us swear allegiance to Rhaegar. His is the largest host - we can swiftly put an end to the Mad King."

_Fool. Swear allegiance to Rhaegar? The man who killed Robert Baratheon?_

The handful of stormlords that remained loudly dissented, along with some others. Lord Grandison cried out "Stannis is Robert's heir. He is the grandson of Rhaelle Targaryen. The throne belongs to him by right of blood, if the Mad King and his spawn cannot rule." The Baratheon men concurred.

Lord Manderly gave a hearty laugh at that, his body shaking. "You jest. Robert was never the heir by blood, he fought for it with his hammer. Stannis is no king." He said with a spit.

Eddard raised his voice. "Stannis is holed up in Storm's End, besieged by the Tyrell armies. How can he lead us?" Stannis was all that his brother was not. An unsmiling lad, to all accounts, not one that would inspire great love in his people." _The men in this room would fight for Robert Baratheon._ _But would anybody in this room die for Stannis? _

Roose Bolton softly spoke "We never swore an oath to Stannis. We fought for Robert, not for House Baratheon."

"Aye." The lords said in agreement. Lord Grandison, incensed, stood up our of his chair and stormed out of the room. The rest of the men sworn to House Baratheon slowly followed him.

Eddard moved up to stop them. Jon placed a firm hand on Eddard's arm. "Let them walk. They'll be back" He assured Eddard. "Well, we just lost the stormlords." He whispered back. This caused a stir among the assembled lords. Lord Umber thundered out "What is to be done? Will we fight two dragons?"

Lord Manderly concluded "All that can be done is bend the knee to Rhaegar."

"The man who killed Robert Baratheon?" asked Lord Corbray.

"Our causes are the same now."

"If you want to lick Rhaegar's boot, be my guest, Lord Manderly."

"By the laws of men, Stannis is our king."

Chaos broke out in the room as voices were raised. Some stood for Stannis, others for Rhaegar. Some voices even called to sue for peace before Aerys. _This alliance is crumbling. Forget Rhaegar and Aerys, we'll lose half of our men before battle if we keep this squabbling up. _

Ethan Glover roared above the sound of the lords debating. "Silence!" Quiet fell over the council. He paced about the room as he spoke.

"The dragons fight each other." He scoffed. "Let them fight. Let them kill each other. Have you forgotten Brandon and Richard Stark? I saw them die. I _watched… _as they tied a noose around his neck. He strangled himself reaching for his sword, trying to save his brother. Him? They dressed him in his armor and the king's pyromancers lit a fire under him. He screamed for mercy as the wildfire torched him, and Aerys only laughed. We owe no loyalty to any Targaryen, not any longer. Aerys or Rhaegar? _I say neither!_ The same blood runs through both of their veins. Their entire line is cursed with madness."

Lord Glover loosed his sword from its scabbard, raising it upwards.

"It was to Aegon's dragons that the North bowed to. The dragons are nothing but bones now. Why shouldn't we rule ourselves again? The kings play their games using us as pawns. What do we owe them? Nothing! There is only one king who I will bend my knee to. Only one king that I will die for. And his name is Eddard Stark: _The King in the North!_"

_The King in the North? No… I couldn't be king… _

In turn, Jason Mallister stood to his feet. "My brother was killed by the cruel hand of Aerys. Many of you here have lost men to the mad king's wrath. Let us avenge ourselves against the dragons! Let us bow to no Targaryen ever again! _The King in the North!_"

Brynden Tully rose from his seat, unsheathing his sword. "My lords. Shall we scrape ourselves down before the dragons? No! I will have one king, _The King in the North!_"

Jon Arryn looked over at Eddard, a gleam in his eyes. _Do your duty. Lead them. _

Lords, one by one, stood up, unsheathing their swords. Lords of the North, lords of the Riverlands, and even the lords of the Vale. Raising their blades, they as one took up the cry which had not been heard in almost three hundred years -

"_The King in the North!"_

"_The King in the North!"_

"_THE KING IN THE NORTH!"_

* * *

Hiya again! Just a note for the future, since the last few chapters came out in quick succession. I release the chapters as soon as I finish writing them. I'm not sure how long it'll take for me to write the next few ones, I might be a bit busy. Just wanted to let you guys know. Anyways, tell me if you liked it! ~ Moradhel


	4. Rhaegar II

**Rhaegar II**

Prince Rhaegar rode on his destrier through the camp, the wind whipping about him. _Too many wounded. Too many dead._ To be sure, they made the rebels bleed more than they had bled themselves, but still, it was too much blood spilt for his liking. Lives cut short by the strings of uncaring fate. How many farmers would never return to their fields? How many fathers never to return to their… Rhaegar sighed. Nothing could be done. He remembered the ultimate purpose of all this war and death - in the end, it was but a small price to pay. How many more would die in the cold darkness of the winter to come? Sacrifices must be made, and if one life now would save one hundred lives, it was a price Rhaegar was willing to pay a hundred times over.

The camp was neat and organized, the dragon-banner of his house waving above it. Orderly rows of tents made way for wide pathways which men and horses walked through. The atmosphere was an expectant one - the men were ready to move on. The last battle was a hard-fought one, but the men were recovering and eager to return home for the harvest. The dragon-prince stopped at one of the tents for the wounded highborn. He walked inside. A brazier kept the inside of the room warm, and wounded knights in various states of injury were laid out on rows of white cots (some splattered with now-dry blood). Maesters in their grey robes shifted about, giving ointments and tinctures to the wounded. There was some stir at Rhaegar's entrance, the wounded soldiers and the maesters bowing their heads. Among the other knights, in no place of especial honor, Ser Barristan Selmy was laid out, bandages wrapped around his head and his arms.

"Prince Rhaegar." Ever the dutiful knight, Ser Barristan tried to get up to bow, but his face winced in pain and he fell back down on the cot.

Rhaegar smiled. The exploits of Ser Barristan the Bold, Knight of the Kingsguard, were already sung from the North to Dorne. The man had single-handedly slain the last of the Blackfyre pretenders, Maelys the Monstrous, cutting through the Golden Company like paper. He had saved the King during the Defiance of Duskendale, though much grief came from that later. If there was any man worthy to wear that white cloak, it was him. Barristan reminded Rhaegar of the noble knights of old, like ones in the stories and the songs he loved as a boy - Ryam Redwyne, Serwyn of the Mirror Shield, and Aemon the Dragonknight. _A pity he was born in an age unworthy of a knight like him._

"Rest, Ser Barristan. You fought well." Rhaegar said.

"Thank you, my lord." Barristan said with a strained smile. "To what do I owe this visit?"

The Targaryen drew up a chair and sat down. "The truth is, Ser, I need advice. My father has… exiled me." Rhaegar sighed, handing him the letter from his father banishing him under pain of death. "Things must have gotten worse with him since I last left King's Landing." Barristan handed him back the letter. Rhaegar threw it in the fire. "It's a shame it had to be this way. If only Aerys wasn't at Harrenhal, I would have called the Council and this would be over." The letter went up in smoke, the wax seal melting in the flames. He brushed some of his silver-pale hair out of his face.

"It's useless to reminisce on what might have been," Barristan noted.

Rhaegar agreed. "What's important now is what we do about the crisis."

Barristan leaned in towards Rhaegar. "You are in command of the largest army on the field at this moment. Send out ravens to the lords of Westeros. The realm hates Aerys. They will fight for you."

Rhaegar shook his head. "When word of this gets out I won't _have _an army. Who fought at the Trident? Do you think Prince Lewyn and the Dornish will fight when the King has his niece as a hostage? Those lords of the Crownlands and those the Riverlands who are loyal to the crown may fight, that's true. Most of the Tyrell army is in the South, besieging Stannis Baratheon. If I recall them north, the armies of the Stormlands will now enter the fray - and after the Trident, they can hardly be expected to fight for the man who killed Robert Baratheon."

_If only we hadn't met on the Trident_. Maybe then the rebel lords would have bent the knee and the two armies could march together on King's Landing. But for now, that door was in all likelihood, closed.

"And no not forget that this young Lord Stark has declared himself _King in the North_." Rhaegar scoffed. "He will not fight alongside us." _Fool. House Targaryen has united the Seven Kingdoms into one and ruled for centuries. _He would not see the realm shattered again.

Ser Barristan leaned back, deep in thought. "What army does Aerys have? Whatever few men remained in the Crownlands, who shouldn't number many. Dorne may declare for Aerys - but they will be slow to send soldiers and slower to fight. And the Lannisters - only the gods know what Tywin will do. Prince Rhaegar, they only have a handful of men."

Rhaegar mused to himself. "I am more worried by this _Eddard Stark_. We could besiege King's Landing - but who knows how long that could take to starve them out. Meanwhile, the rebel armies will be regrouping and reinforcing themselves. We can either defeat them in the Riverlands now - or wait for them to retreat north of the Neck or into the Vale of Arryn. It would be madness to wade an army through that gods-forsaken swamp, or besiege the Bloody Gate."

Barristan spoke up. "If the Stark will not bend the knee… We must first fight him and his rabble. King Aerys can wait - he won't be leaving the Red Keep anytime soon. He is isolated, with few men about him. Eddard still has a large army. We can crush him, and then turn east and march on King's Landing. You do not want to be King over a kingdom rent in two."

"There is sense in this plan. We strike while the rebel army is still reeling from their losses. We should send messages out to the lords of Westeros. Perhaps we can turn some to our side. Very well then." Rhaegar rose from the chair. "Take your time to rest, Ser Barristan. It is well deserved. When you are ready to take up your sword again, tell me."

"Assuredly, my Prince." Barristan said hopefully.

* * *

_To the Lords of the Westeros ~ _

_A darkness is enshrouding these Seven Kingdoms. King Aerys is no longer worthy to sit on the Iron Throne. For the high crimes of Aerys Targaryen, he is clearly no longer fit to be the ruler of Westeros. I beseech you, lords, to aid me in putting this threat to our realm down. It appears that Aerys Targaryen has exiled me for nothing but base accusations and false suspicions - such an act is only one of a madman. The matter of the renegade Lord Eddard Stark and his followers is also a matter pressing to the Realm. The Seven Kingdoms are under One Throne, and the authority of that throne shall not be usurped, no matter what man sits upon it. Therefore, my lords, I call upon you to raise your banners in defense of your lands and your realm from both the Mad King and the traitor to the North. I await your support._

_~ King Rhaegar I Targaryen, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm _

King Rhaegar I Targaryen, First of His Name, lifted the quill from the paper. He handed it to the Maester to his side. "Send the ravens to all of our allies, north and south." Sitting back in the chair, he pondered the consequences of his action. If Aerys' previous suspicions were based on whispers and rumor, this definitely would be a blatant act of defiance. Though he had no desire to sit on the Iron Throne, it was another burden he would shoulder so that the monster that sat on it now could be cast down. He looked into the fire. _Sacrifices must be made_. No one had promised him that this path would be easy. He was the best hope of the realm now. Rhaegar just hoped that he would be enough.

* * *

It was brought to my attention that I switched Brandon and Rickard Stark a few times in the last chapter and made a few other errors, I went back and fixed those. If any of you guys catch any other errors like that in future chapters just let me know lol. Hope you enjoyed! ~ Moradhel


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